


blazing

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bruising, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Possessiveness, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Telepathic Sex, codependent time lords, fluff but kinda dark, the Master is very in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Master wakes up from a nightmare in the Doctor’s arms. She makes every effort to ensure he knows he’ll never be alone again.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	blazing

Outside the TARDIS doors, stars are burning. There’s a whole infinite universe out there, full of endless possibility, full of a million billion interesting things just waiting to be discovered by a couple of curious Time Lords. 

The Master could not give less of a damn about any of it. 

Here in the soft warmth of a blue-painted bedroom, his face is buried in the Doctor’s neck, kissing a faint constellation of freckles he’s found on her skin. That’s all the universe he needs. He wonders if he’ll ever again crave the sight of a star going supernova, of a crystal waterfall blazing with sparkle in the sunlight, when he has the Doctor in his arms. 

She is so much more than he could ever be. And the Master has decided not to care about that. 

Ever so gently, he nips at the darkest freckle in the constellation, and the Doctor wakes. She shifts, blinks lazily up at him. There’s something new in her eyes, these days. The weight of everything she’s learned about herself- it’s black and heavy on her conscience. 

“Theta,” the Master murmurs, and some of that darkness in her gaze fades. Her name, the name only _he_ knows, never fails to relax her a little. It’s private, just for them- none of the same weight that _Doctor_ carries with it. 

“Koschei,” she returns, voice a little rough with tiredness. “You woke up before me. ‘S unusual. You like your sleep.” 

“Yeah. Had a...dream.” From the intonation of his voice, he’s sure the Doctor can tell exactly what kind of unpleasantness he means. 

Immediately, she shifts- suddenly she’s straddling his hips, her hands on his shoulders, squeezing warmly but _firmly_. “Tell me about it,” she insists, and the Master feels powerless to refuse her. It’s not a bad feeling. 

“I was alone,” he says quietly, and instantly her grip on his shoulders tightens, pressing him into the mattress. “I told you who you were, and you left me alone. Wandering Gallifrey by myself. Couldn’t find a TARDIS, I was just...just _stuck_. Alone.” 

The Doctor bends down and kisses him before saying a single word. It’s fierce, possessive, passionate- the Master relaxes, gives in, lets her take over his world for a few blissful minutes. 

Eventually she pulls back, staying nose-to-nose with him. “I would _never_ do that to you,” she says sternly. “Not ever, not now I have you. My Koschei. Not gonna let you be alone ever again.” 

Unbidden, images of the past rise to the Master’s mind. They’ve been over what happened at the end of his previous life, how what he’d thought was an abandonment was actually just a cruel coincidence, but even though the knife is gone now, the open wound still stings. What if the Doctor leaves him for real? With a potentially infinite lifespan, won’t she get bored of him? 

She must see the doubt in his eyes, because her grip on his shoulders tightens until it must be leaving bruises. “ _My_ Koschei,” she repeats, her voice somehow still so gentle even though he doesn’t think he could disobey her if he tried. “Say it for me. Say whose you are.” 

A shiver runs down the Master’s spine. “Yours.” Deep down, he thinks that any of his regenerations would have admitted that in a heartsbeat. _Two hearts, and both of them yours_. _A cosmos without the Doctor scarcely bears thinking about_. 

“Exactly. And that means, I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have to handcuff me to you to make you believe me.” 

“Sounds hot,” the Master says with a wry smile, just to relieve a little of the tension in the room. 

She scoffs, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. There are bruises there now- where she’d been gripping him. The Master wonders if he can convince her to leave more. 

“Kosch, I don’t have to handcuff you to keep you still. I just have to ask nicely.” The Doctor’s hands skim down his arms, circling his wrists, lifting them and placing them gently down above his head. “Keep them there for me, darling?” Her voice is sweet as honey. The thought of disobedience is terrifying. Stars above, she’s _hot_. 

“Whatever you want,” he sighs, pressing up towards her. He wants nothing more than to please her, right now. The aftermath of his dream weighs heavy on his mind, and the Master would do anything to keep lying here with the Doctor on his hips, letting her tell him how much she adores him. 

“I want you to not be so insecure. ‘Cause I’m not gonna leave you, Koschei. You’re not gonna leave me, are you? Think about how strongly you feel that. How bad it hurts to think about anything going wrong. That right there? That’s how I feel about you, too. Honest.” The Doctor rests her hands on his chest as she speaks, one over each heart. The Master can feel them beating under her hands; he almost thinks they beat a little stronger, just for her. 

“I’ve never wanted to leave you,” he says, closing his eyes. “Never. Not really, not deep down.” He remembers being petty enough to die so that he wouldn’t have to spend his life with the Doctor. He remembers making that decision, how sure he’d been, and how- even then- there’d been a wriggle of doubt in his stomach. 

Right at the heart of who he is, is the Doctor. She made him, in the physical sense of who they both are, Time Lord and Timeless Child, but also- in the fact of their childhoods, all that time spent together. A bond like no other. They’d be nothing without each other. 

“And now you don’t have to. _Ever_. I’m not lettin’ go of you now.” The Doctor’s hands slide down his bare chest; so _warm_ , so soft. He does love how soft her new body is. The last one had been brilliant- every body of hers is brilliant-, but nothing compares to this. To her. Every smile makes his hearts flutter, every touch sends sparks down his spine. He’s completely, utterly smitten, and he knows it. She knows it, too. 

The Master relaxes, letting the residual worry from his nightmare drain out of him. Everything’s going to be okay. Of course it is. He’s got the Doctor, and what more could he possibly want? 

Her lips press against his collarbone, and he is suddenly reminded of something else he might want. He draws in a breath, lets it out shakily, and tips his head back. A silent _more, please_. 

The Doctor obliges, trailing kisses over his neck. Every one of them blazes, sparks like a live wire touching metal, and it distracts the Master _utterly_. So much so that he scarcely notices the Doctor’s hand trailing up his body until her fingers press against his temple, and she’s in his head. 

“Share with me,” she demands, even though her mouth is currently occupied with licking a careful trail between the few faint marks she’s already left on his neck. Her words echo in his head, and the Master obeys instantly. 

His consciousness floods into hers; they crash like waves, mingle, blur, swirling tides of sunrise and sunset, until it’s hard to tell which thought came from which one of them. 

Someone comes up with the genius idea that they should kiss. The Master leans up; feels the Doctor lean down until their lips meet, warm and purposeful, kissing until it feels like he’s melting, like there’s no real _him_ anymore; it’s just the two of them, together. 

The Doctor’s mind is beautiful. It’s utterly chaotic; thoughts fly past at a mile a minute, emotions and snippets of music and memory fluttering around like butterflies. Underneath it all, the Master feels one thing pulsing stronger than anything- her feelings for him, warm and solid. 

He loses himself in those feelings, quite literally. They’re like a river, sweeping him up, carrying his consciousness until it comes swirling back into the shared space between them, dizzied and dazed. 

“Mine,” the Doctor says, and the Master echoes it. It’s equally true on both ends. They both know it. 

“Theta,” he says- out loud and in her mind, two syllables drowning out everything else for a moment. “ _Theta_. I want you.” 

That does it. Their mindscape seems to even out to a soft shade of night sky blue, usually, other colours swirling around like smoke. But now, it floods pinkish red, sparks of gold swirling between them. Want. _Need_. 

He went to sleep naked, but the Doctor is wearing an odd combination of one sock, and a pair of her usual blue trousers. Minus the suspenders, so they’re falling down a bit. The Master marshals his energy into his actual body, and takes advantage of their looseness to pull them right off. He doesn’t bother with the sock. If she wants to leave one sock on for this, that’s her choice. 

With that taken care of, the Doctor scrambles up onto his hips again. He can feel every bit of her emotions, raw and full of a desperate, clawing _need_. A need for pleasure, a need to...to _claim_ him, make him utterly hers. 

“Theta,” he breathes out, and he would tell her that he’s already utterly hers, but she chooses that moment to grab him by the hips and sink down onto him, and every thought of a coherent reply goes out of the Master’s mind. 

At least she’s as much of a wreck as he is. 

The feeling of it reverberates between the two of them, and it’s like nothing else. The Master feels tight warmth, rough hands gripping his hips. He also feels that odd sensation of being full, dizzying for a minute until it _isn’t_ , and suddenly all either of them want to do is move. 

It’s easy to find a rhythm when you’re sharing minds. The Master rocks his hips lazily, feels the Doctor rise and fall on him like nothing has ever been simpler. His hands lift from the pillow where she’d insisted they stay, drag down her back- he feels her gasp and flex into the touch, and he feels his own nails raking down her skin, the pleasurable sting of it. 

Her hands are gripping him hard enough to bruise; he looks forward to admiring the matching set of finger-marks on his shoulders and hips tomorrow. He feels the pain of a too-tight grip, and how solid his hips are, grounding her as she presses back down onto him. 

Above all the small things, there’s the pleasure. It’s massive, undeniable, _sparkling_ ; felt from both ends, the Master thinks he could drown in it. He reaches up again, and pulls the Doctor down into a kiss. She moans against his lips- quiet, but audible, and the sound sends a heat through him that she feels too, a moment later. 

He loves this. And he remembers, suddenly, what he’d been about to tell her. It seems very important now, as she fucks him, to make sure she knows exactly how he feels about her. It’s not like he can lie, with their minds tangled together like this. 

“I’m yours,” he says in her mind. “All yours, Theta. I always have been. Always will be.” It’s been millennia, and he’s never fallen in love with anyone else. He knows that _she_ has. But he also knows that those people come and go, and he always comes back. 

_No matter who else she spends time with, she always comes back to him_. 

Is that his thought or hers? It’s hard to tell. The Master lifts one of his legs a little, giving himself a better angle to move against her. The satisfied, possessive thrill of what he’d said to her is glowing in the Doctor’s mind, and now he feels her tensing up, chasing more and more pleasure, faster and faster. 

He feeds that fire in her mind, matching every thrust perfectly, letting his hands glide over her chest, her ribs, down the faint nail-marks he already left on her back. The Master wants nothing more than to please her in this moment. 

It’s that thought from him that seems to send her over the edge. The Doctor gasps- stills- their joined mindscape turns a bright, blazing white. The Master buries himself in her pleasure, lets it overwhelm him, lets his own climax hit him. It’s shaky, it’s _long_ ; it leaves him feeling utterly soft and loose and spent, occasional sparks of white still drifting through the mindscape and making him twitch. 

The Doctor doesn’t need to ask how he feels; she knows. Just like he knows how content she is, how she feels satisfied, and not just because of the sex. 

It should probably bother him, how possessive she is over him. But the Master can’t say he’s any better. And if he’s honest with himself, he likes it. This body craves attention, craves affection, and she is _so_ willing to provide it. All he has to do is smile and admit that he’s hers, and that’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“My Koschei,” she says eventually. “You moved your arms. Rude.” 

The Master sends her back a lazy wave of warmth and adoration, knowing full well that she doesn’t really care about him moving. That earns him a smile, and she carefully climbs off of him, crawling up the bed to curl up against his side. Slowly, they begin the process of detangling their minds from each other. 

By the time it’s done, the Doctor has ended up on top of him again, her arms tight around him, her lips pressed against his neck. The Master is holding her too, keeping her as close as he can. Losing a strong mental connection like that is always hard. 

“Theta,” he says quietly, once the last of the connection has been untangled and they are fully back in their own heads. “I love you.” 

The Doctor looks up at him. He sees the happiness in her eyes; he also sees the satisfaction, the relief. Like she knows he’s not going anywhere, like she believes him, like she’s secure in the knowledge that she _has_ him. 

And she does. 

“I love you too, Koschei,” she says, and buries her face in his shoulder to bite a mark into the skin so that he can’t see her blush. He’s just been inside her, for goodness’ sake, and it’s a simple bit of affection that has her flushing pink. 

The Master relaxes into the pain-pleasure, a smile drifting over his lips. Whatever they have going on here, it’s not normal. He knows that completely. They are the farthest thing from normal that this dimension has ever seen. They are strange, and dark, and maybe they’ll burn each other up. 

But he knows, just as securely as the Doctor knows that she has him, that he wouldn’t change this for the universe. 

**Author's Note:**

> my favourite hobby is not writing for 10 days and then coming back with SMUT
> 
> anyway hope y’all enjoyed!! comments and kudos are very very much appreciated <3


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